Disturbing the Hive
by ChaosBayne
Summary: Carsus VII has terminated all warp transmissions with the rest of the Segmentum. The 42nd Cadian have been sent as part of a huge Taskforce to remove any hostile threat in the area. Can Jecht survive the alien horror to come? Chapter 3 up. C&C Welcome.
1. Prologue

**Disturbing the Hive**

The air was chilled, almost icy. Huge ventilation ducts spanned the upper walls, their foreboding presence reverberating a constant, numbing roar from the shadows. _Humanity should not be here._

The thought stung Jecht like a knife from the shadows, his face twisting and contorting with each slow, relentless step onwards. Below, the frozen plasteel panels rattled and creaked in defiance of his passage, their surface one untouched by human feet for decades.

Pulling the butt of his rifle tighter to his shoulder, he pressed on, reassured slightly by the tingling feel of condensation freezing on the back of his neck. As if on cue, the Cadian noticed a gentle palm urging him forward.

"Of all the days to get point…" he muttered aloud, relying on the drone from above to hide his words.

He swung his fire arc from side to side; bathed the frosted walls in an eerie ultraviolet. Under the glare of his barrel-torch, the ancient stone revealed hundreds of faded messages, manual diagrams and even graffiti from bygone eras, all hopelessly entombed in ice equally as old.

Shivering violently, Jecht quickened his pace, the warmth of the mess hall his mind's escape from the unparalleled cold of reality.

Without warning the curtain of shadow gave way before him, the unlit corridor suddenly expanding away into a large, circular chamber.

Within lurked the ominous shapes of vast power conduits, each one surrounded by dozens of smaller consoles and monitors. "I guess that's why it's so cold in here," Jecht spoke, the vapours from his breath spiralling off into the shadows above. Raising his torch, he illuminated the four massive thermo-plasma generators, their archaic, adamantium structures leering down at him through the ultraviolet.

"An emperor damned dead end is what it is!" came the familiar sharp tone of Jecht's squad Sergeant Valerie, as he pushed to the front of the squad and on into the room. The rest of the unit followed warily, a multitude of torches desperately fighting back the chill darkness.

"But why is the climate control still active if these boys are powered down?" rose the voice of leftenant Mecca from behind, "It wouldn't make sense to drain the hive's reserve to keep it active if there's none being put back in return."

Valerie's reply was instant and rang clearly with sarcasm, "I don't think anything in this damned forsaken tomb rightly makes sense Mek. I'd give as good a guess as any to that being the reason why his emperor's finest have been thrown in the fridge to find out."

Brushing off some accumulated frost with the back of his glove, the heavily scarred sergeant peered down at one of the control panels and the array of controls on the display, "While we're here, might be some use in getting these things started up again. All this UV is giving me a headache. Mek see what you can do."

Leaving the others to work the control panels, Jecht shouldered his lasrifle and moved over to the conduits themselves. Shaped like four pillars, the generators were indeed colossal, disappearing upwards beyond the range of his light. Up to where nothing could pierce the inky blanket of shadow.

Wiping away the layers of crystal-like frost, Jecht studied the large warning illustration emblazoned in thick, black font on one of the conduits, its grizzly message reading like an epitaph.

**In case of catastrophe, e****nable manual shutdown to avoid core failure**

"What the hell happened here?" the shock trooper asked aloud, tracing the message with his finger. As if in mechanic reply, the generators sprang into sudden life, buzzing and humming as the power initiation process began. Groaning under the immense stress, the ancient machines slowly rose from slumber.

From the corner of his eye, Jecht spotted something against the rim of the outer wall. Shining like white pearls in his ultraviolet, Jecht moved over to the strange substance, curious as to what could survive the years so well. Kneeling down, he leant his lasrifle against the wall, pulling a separate, smaller torch from his belt.

Flicking the switch, he stopped to smile a little; the natural glow of the regular bulb a welcome change from the unworldly hue of ultraviolet. Yet gazing down, his momentary feelings of appreciation quickly dissipated to that of the gnawing sensation of fear, "Blood?"

Around and above him the generator casings slid apart. Marked with the grinding of metal and the cracking of ice, the massive chamber was filled with an unbearable cascade of sound, shattering the previous silence. Soon the glow of blue plasma filled the icy atmosphere as the conduits revealed their swirling cargo. The shadows above quickly relented, revealing the spherical expanse in its true glory.

The sight was magnificent, even enough to turn the storm trooper away from the frozen blood at his feet. Each of the pillar-like conduits stretched upwards through the shaft for what seemed like miles, beyond the comprehension of mere human eyesight. Lines of raw electricity crackled to and fro between the conduits and to individual transistors on the surrounding wall. Even above the furious racket, Jecht could hear the awestruck cries of the rest of his squad, "By the Emperor! This must be the main hive supply!"

Grimacing slightly, Jecht grabbed for his lasgun and followed the blood trail around the side of one of the generators. The air was already growing noticeably warmer and he had to pause to wipe nervous sweat from his brow.

The sight that confronted him at the end was less than magnificent. Across one of the control panels lay a corpse, its face frozen in perpetual horror. "Arbiter…" Jecht whispered, noticing the Arbites insignia on the late peacekeeper's carapace. The thick armour had been torn through as if mere paper, its unfortunate occupant's spine being ripped out.

Jecht span away, his heart racing. The previous grinding of the thermo generators had given way to a deep, pulsing drone. It rose to shake the very floor beneath for one moment, before dropping to silence the next. As the plasma ebbed and surged, so the temperature rose.

The Cadian Trooper poured with sweat as his mind struggled to deal with the situation. _Sweet Emperor what is going on in this place? _the thoughts careered through his mind like stars drifting past on the passage of the warp stream. The relentless droning echoed through his ears, resonating across his very soul. Doubling over, he retched violently, struggling desperately to keep himself from vomiting.

Staggering back to the others, Jecht gasped at the air. He was in danger, they all were. He called out desperately. Futile. He was too late.

The attack was fast. Too fast for something so large. Too fast for anything. The sergeant was dead in seconds, his face a mangled wreck. Two more died bringing their rifles to bear, the creature's claws working like a machine to dismember them.

Mek screamed in defiance and unleashed a long cylinder of liquid fire towards the alien visage. Jecht's hopes rose as he brought his rifle to aim; he'd never seen anything survive when Mek set his flamer to it. Yet whatever this thing was, no incinerator was going to cause harm. It simply slithered to one side, dodging the worst of the flames before surging forward and brushing the burly leftenant aside as if he were but a fly. The freshly disembowelled man span around, his mouth wide with agony and horror. With a finger still fast on the trigger, the rest of the Shock squadron could only scream as they received the full force of the ghastly weapon at close range. Skin melted on contact with the white hot promethium and lasfire crackled around the chamber as the poor men fired in spasm.

Jecht dropped to his knees, gagging and retching. He wanted so desperately to bring his rifle to bear. To die fighting. To die well. Yet he couldn't. He felt useless. Like a baby in his mother's arms. He could only look up for one final sight of horror, as the monstrous creature slithered inevitably towards him. He had never seen anything like it before; a long, glistening, snake-like torso; six huge, scything claws. As it drew closer the massive bone-weapons stretched back, as if in anticipation of the final, fatal embrace.

From above, the inexorable din of the generators warped and contorted the air. As it rose and fell, so the vile creature swayed, matching its movement to the rhythm of the plasma. With it, Jecht began to sway too, hypnotised by the baleful dance.

Gazing up into the alien's twisted face, his breath caught and held. Below the bone mandibles that clicked and scratched with its excitement, Jecht registered the grin etched across its face…

The shadow consumed him, pulling and tearing at his senses.

_Strange that death could be so painless._

A lone voice echoed around him, its cruel, robotic tone seeming to drag him from the warmth and safety of the darkness. What it spoke he could not make out, the words seeming strangely alien and unworldly. Yet strangely he knew that the language was his own.

"**Sector command; All guardsmen to report immediately to respective lander bays. Planetfall to commence at 08:00 hours. You will be briefed en route to your landing zones."**

Jecht's eyes sprung open, though he could see nothing. The glare from above left him paralysed, mute. Desperately he struggled against it, trying to find his bearings against the unceasing racket from the command vox.

"**Sector command; _'You are the children of his will. Fear not evil nor pain. Fear only the righteous wrath of his iron might, lest you fail in service of his glorious name! Praise him, and you shall live forever!"_**

"Up you get boys and girls! I hope you've dreamt of home caus' there's no time for that where we're going. Up! Up!" the voice was crudely familiar.

_Valerie?_ Jecht let the name cross his thoughts, rubbing vigorously at his half closed eyes, all the while attempting to sit straight in his bunk. As his feet hit the chill plasteel below, the truth became wholly apparent.

Yet he had watched them die! Every one of them!

"Damned warp dreams. Why can't they pull out of the stream at night, so I can at least get a few hours of sleep without my head feeling like the fallout from a frellin' Amasec binge." the voice came from above, shortly followed by the arrival of leftenant Mecca, leaping down to his side, already half dressed in his black, dusty flak armour, "You alright there Jecht? Demons didn't get to you too bad I hope?"

The young Cadian met his superior's grinning gaze, his head cradled heavily in his hands, "Just a dream?" he asked, surprised to even hear his own voice. Mek's only reply was a short laugh as he headed off to rouse the others.

Jecht returned his gaze to the floor below. It had seemed so real. He remembered every sensation, every image, _every drop of blood,_ and with cruel detail. He had no idea where it was they were being sent. No idea what they were even doing here. Yet he knew that whatever their purpose was, the dreadful reverie of the past night could only be an omen. A bad omen…


	2. Chapter 1

**Part 1: The Falling**

The sweltering inner compartment of the Lander resembled something of a giant cattle truck, every possible space consumed by an anxious, fidgeting guardsman. Nervous chatter echoed through the hold, each man with his own opinion of where they were going. _Just another war._

From his position beside the small portal window, Jecht studied the dozens of tech-adepts and servitors scurrying to and fro about the hulking behemoth like ants attending their bloated queen. With patient, precise vigilance they prepared the Mark IX Landing craft for its journey into orbit.

He watched as vast fuel lines were brought to bear by teams of Bionic Tech Servitors, pumping refined promethium deep into the bowels of the massive vessel. Others performed the ritual blessing and anointing required for the Lander to even power up - soaking every inch of the great machine with sacred oil as incense swirled in and around it. The sickly-sweet scent that filled the interior reminded Jecht of his joining the guard some six months prior. He remembered how the dancing clouds of smoke and steam made him dizzy with each carefully recited vow to the emperor.

Curious it was that humanity forced so much faith into these rituals. Every possible charge or purpose had to be preceded by a variety of bizarre ceremonies. Jecht scoffed slightly, _Perhaps they themselves could spend a little more time making sure the damned things actually worked, rather than simply praying to the God Emperor to do it, _the thought managed to bring a wry smile to his lips - the first hint of any positive emotion since he had awoken from his earlier warp nightmare. Almost a full hour later and still he could not shake the dreadful images from his thoughts; the grinning face of the alien horror etched indefinitely in the dark recesses of his mind. For all the reassuring words of his comrades, he couldn't help but get the feeling that the reverie had a deeper, ominous meaning.

From above the radio vox crackled into life, filling the expansive Lander hold with an ear piercing burst of static, followed shortly by the voice of Colonel Drezlen, his booming, rough tone instantly condemning the two thousand odd men to silence, "Men of the 42nd Cadian, listen close and listen well. As I am sure most of you are aware, the fleet dropped out of the warpstream some hours ago and began making preparations to send you, along with elements from the 73rd, 125th and 501st Cadian, 182nd and 48th Mordian and a detachment garrison of Adeptus Arbites, into planetary assault," the final mention of the Arbiters left Jecht stunned, the colour draining visibly from his face. The eyes of the dead Arbiter champion, his form embedded in the cruel embrace of ice, burned with dire ferocity behind his own.

As the baleful image ran its course once more, he became greeted by the same, familiar feeling of nausea and helplessness. Instinctively he rose a hand to cover his mouth, even as the Colonel continued with his briefing, "What you are not aware of is where it is exactly you are being sent and for what purpose. I shall tell you only what I know, for in truth we are dropping into the unknown here,"the vox broke to static for a second before Drezlen continued, "The planet is that of Carsus VII, a class A industry world accountable for over eighty percent of the mineral slag deposit and titanium ore in this entire sector.

All communications have been lost for several months and all trade vessels passing through this segmentum have disappeared without trace. The Departmento Munitorum fear the worst and have thus gathered a tithe to make contact with the central Hive city, Hyphereon prime. We are to establish the planet's situation and eliminate with extreme prejudice, any perceived threat to the authority of our immortal emperor.

Preliminary reports from our frigates and Thunderbolt scouts already in the atmosphere detect no hostile threat on the ground, no signs of life at all in fact, so there's a possibility that whatever might've been here has already moved on from the Hive. Keep your eyes open though 'caus we don't know what's lurking down there," as he spoke the Lander shuddered vigorously, the cataphract's engines humming into life below them. The huge constructs holding the craft in support slowly withdrew, leaving the metal Behemoth to drop several metres onto its suspension, arousing a multitude of grunts from the troops inside.

The light pouring in from the bay slowly began to subside to the dull red glow of the illuminated interior as steel shutters closed fast over the Perspex vision portals. Seeing his comrades in the eerie glow of crimson seemed strange, almost morbid, their eyes glowing like twin candle flames against the lowlight. _Not long now,_ he thought gripping tight to his lasrifle and carefully checking over his torso and neck restraints; he had seen first hand what faulty buckles did to human bone structure on a landing.

Irritated by the interruption, the Colonel cleared his throat and spoke up once more, "Our LZ will be on the first tier of the inner hive, in close proximity to the main, southern entrance to the city. Your platoon commanders will brief you on securing the area and enabling a base of operations on arrival. I myself will descend via Valkyrie once a foothold has been secured and fortified. Until then, remain vigilant and keep faith in the Emperor. That is all. Good luck men. Drezlen out," the vox returned to static for an instant before turning off altogether.

"Pah! Privileges of rank right? Saving himself the Lander ride," came the sneering voice of Jecht's neighbour, private Quentin. A shady, dark haired character - the Cadian had oddly found himself bonding with him more than most across his small term of service. Yet he didn't bother to reply, instead he found himself gazing out across the Lander's inner compartment. Rank after rank of secured Guardsmen; some weathered veterans, others freshly conscripted.

He felt for those who had not endured a Landing before, even one not facing the threat of enemy ground fire such as this. After only six months with the Guard, Jecht had already endured twelve, each one more gut wrenching than the last.

Aptly named 'The Falling,' it involved the Landing Cataphract switching off all engine power once it reached the upper atmosphere, resulting in a controlled freefall towards the ground below. At about four hundred feet from the surface the Lander's counter thrusters would deploy, saving all from certain death.

The purpose of this was apparently to reduce the risk of enemy fire, yet the shock trooper guessed it had more to do with building up the adrenaline in the two thousand odd guardsmen that would then charge blindly from the craft into hell or worse. Nevertheless, he had survived up until now and that was what held importance.

As if from nowhere a thunderous, growling roar rose up from beneath them, the Lander's take off thrusters igniting into action. Slowly but surely the massive Cataphract shifted forward, speeding up as the opening blast doors released the vacuum of space on the Hangar bay.

His knuckles glowing white around the his rifle, Jecht prayed silently to the Emperor.

With the Lander inclining towards the menacing, brooding shape of Carsus, the familiar feel of the Battle Cruiser's artificial gravity rapidly gave way to that of weightlessness. Indeed, the heavy seat restraints became the only thing stopping the 42nd taskforce from forming a floating mass of bodies and equipment. It was the calm before the storm that Jecht knew all too well.

The Lander shuddered very slightly. Then again. Jecht closed his eyes, clenching his teeth until the tendons of his neck were plainly visible above his collar. He knew what was coming, or so he thought. The shuddering continued, now without pause. Soon it had risen to a loud rattle as the Cataphract broke through the outer layers of ozone. Alongside the rattle emerged a slight, growling rumble, also growing in intensity with each passing second.

The minutes passed and so rose the tension in the air, the craft visibly shaking and the noise outside now a deafening roar. Jecht pulled his knees up to his chest, a look of pain etched across his face. It seemed as if his ears were about to rupture, yet the barrage of sound still continued to magnify. He felt like crying out but managed to force his mouth shut, _It will end, soon. Ignore it, _he told himself, pressing his hands hard over his ears.

As if some higher force had heard him, the terrible roaring suddenly subsided. They had broken through.

Around the hold, the newer recruits were instantly identified with a simultaneous gasp of relief, the more seasoned guardsmen simply consigning themselves to the greater horror to come.

Yet their expectations were shattered in an instant; the cataphract rocked wildly under the force of a huge explosion. At the opposite side of the Lander's interior, a wide section of the craft's metal hull simply broke away, taking with it several rows of screaming guardsmen. In its place remained a gaping hole, outlined by several sharp sections of twisted, smouldering metal, like the maw of some alien monstrosity.

Outside, the clouds loomed dark and ominous, angry giants belligerent to the presence of the Lander. Those teetering on the brink of the rift screamed in terror, desperately clawing at their nearest passengers to try and hold on. Stunned by the unexpected explosion, the hulking vessel seemed to hang in the air, the wind howling through its inner compartment, guiding the sickly smell of molten iron throughout the hold.

The seconds passed. Only the wind and the whimpering disturbing the otherwise shocked silence of the Cataphract's interior. The pilots were somehow keeping the it aloft with thruster power alone, yet they couldn't keep it up Jecht knew. They had to drop.

As if on cue the metal Behemoth lurched violently to one side, sending several more men spiralling off through the hole and into oblivion, their screams dying in the wind. For a few final seconds the craft held suspended, as if reluctant to drop to its grizzly demise. _Gravity would have its just reward._

The Lander's thrusters fizzled to nothing, sending the huge vessel into freefall. Manoeuvred by the now deafening wind, it veered awkwardly onto its back, plummeting the guardsmen headfirst towards the hive city below. The prior stench of smouldering iron quickly dissipated to a new, vile odour; that of vomit.

Outside, the clouds raced past with incredible speed, illuminated magnificently against the cold, blue sky. _Nice view to meet the end, _Jecht thought, struggling desperately against the accumulated forces to gaze through the rift. He felt strangely relieved, the nightmare couldn't have held any omen if he was to die here in the Lander. A smile even began to play across his lips.

For what seemed like hours the descent continued, prolonging the inevitable, final conclusion. Most of those inside the Lander were silent now, resigned to accept their fate. Some were deep in prayer, making their peace with the Emperor. Others simply sat stunned, dumbfounded as to how they could meet such an end before even touching down.

Or would they meet it now? Beneath them Jecht felt something shifting. Something was fighting back against gravity. Indeed! The pilots were trying to right the huge machine! Surely an impossible task, yet he could sense it, the counter-thrusters were humming into life once more.

Slowly at first, the Lander began to turn in mid-air. Others began to notice it too, tearing themselves from prayer or trance. Soon the craft was no longer upside down but on one side, the gaping hole in its hull now showing the first glimpses of Hive Hyphereon, stretching out across the planet's surface in all its majesty, several miles below. A final push from the thrusters and the Cataphract righted itself, dropping towards the city as designed. Looking across the hold, Jecht saw the relief written clearly across the face of each and every man. The Emperor had given them another chance. For now.

After another few minutes of plummeting freefall, the descent began to slow, all power being diverted to the flaring counter-thrusters which had become their saviour. Outside, the taller spires and megaplexes of the city were now visible. The rain soaked structures glimmered like ice against the constant flash of lightning and echo of thunder.

"After all that an' they can't even give us nice weather to drop into," spoke Corporal Mecca somewhere to Jecht's left. The squad allowed themselves a nervous laugh, all trying to shake off the trauma of their prior near miss.

The Lander's descent slowed to a final, agonising depression, its cargo bracing themselves for the inevitable impact. They would have to trust their harnesses now, if they failed on landing, the result would be a shattered spine.

Rain poured in through the rift in the hull, driven by the fierce gales that resounded outside. It was already plain to see that they were well off course. A vast ocean stood visible a short distance away, lashing furiously at a crumbling harbour wall that spanned for miles around the Hive peninsula. Whatever caused the explosion high above had unintentionally sent them spiralling off to a different part of the city, apparently some sort of dockland area.

Without warning the Cataphract touched down, its suspension struggling audibly to contain the brunt of the powerful impact. Plumes of dust billowed up through the gaping wound in the hull, choking and blinding those inside.

Jecht felt the restraints of his seat pull tightly as the metal Behemoth slammed to a halt, sucking him in to the recesses of the padded chair. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, offering a silent praise to the Emperor. _Number thirteen, survived,_ he thought with a sigh, readying his rifle for departure.

In unison, the strap harnesses snapped open and slid back into their chairs, releasing the guardsmen from captivity. The metal window shutters slid open again, bathing the hold with the dull grey light from outside, "Get moving dogs! Whatever hit us up there probably wants to finish the kill, regroup on me once we're away from the Lander!" Jecht found himself relieved to hear his sergeant's voice, thankful that Valerie had survived.

All around them the exit doors hissed and fizzled as they blew outwards, the automated drop ramps swiftly deploying in their wake. The men raced from every exit, even jumping out of the hull tear, all desperate to be away from the Cataphract that had so nearly killed them all. As Jecht made his way to the nearest ramp he looked about the emptying hold, at least half a dozen men still rigid in their seats, necks broken. A cruel twist of irony that these men could be spared once, only to die on landing. His gaze dropped to the floor as he turned away from them.

Once outside, the Shock Trooper was greeted by the full force of a Carsus downpour, soaking through to his skin in seconds. Looking around he saw his assumptions of a dockland were correct, huge warehouses and cargo cranes towered above even the Lander's hulking form. Several huge ships still stood anchored in the harbour, their cargo apparently half unloaded. One of the vast vessels had been blown half to pieces, its rotting decks exposed to the elements and its stern wholly submerged beneath the surging brown-grey waves. Turning his attention in the opposite direction, he quickly registered the sight of several other Landers plummeting towards the ground, their thrusters engaging just as they disappeared behind the concrete and steel horizon of infrastructure, albeit several miles away.

The Cadian spotted Sergeant Valerie, the entirety of sixth platoon gathering around him, "Alright men, Lieutenant Omagh didn't make it. As such I'll be taking command as acting sergeant major of this platoon until we're commissioned a new JO. So forever in other words," his humour found a warm welcome, even amongst the mass of still-shocked guardsmen, "As you can probably guess we're slightly off target here, about five clicks southwest of our intended LZ at the south gate. Our first priority is to get the heavier equipment and weaponry inside out of this weather. About two hundred metres north of here stands the dockyard cargo link, used to transport manpower and goods to and fro between the docks and main Hive. We need to move fast in case we get targeted aga…" the sergeant paused, his gaze fixed steadily on the sky above. A mixed look of shock and awe was etched across his features, the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his left cheek guiding the rain from his face, "Holy Throne…"

Jecht followed Valerie's unwavering gaze to the clouds above, his own face quickly matching that of his sergeant's. Bursting through the shifting cloud bank in the wake of the landers, came a hail of ice blue spheres, huge balls of glowing bio plasma tearing towards the earth below. Like comets they arced in all directions, tails stretching out far behind. Most inclined towards the other Landers but some seemed to break from the main pack and plummet towards the 42nd's own vessel, "We've got incoming! Get moving, one piece of equipment each and head towards the link facility! Weaponry first, ammo second! Move move!" roared the burly sergeant, darting off towards the Lander bay storage himself, the platoon following closely. Jecht grabbed for one side of a heavy Auto-Cannon casing, Quentin taking hold of the other. Together they staggered off towards the Cargo link, half running, half limping under the weight of the heavy weapon, spurred on by the threat of orbital bombardment.

As they ran, so the swirling balls of energy began to connect with the surface of Hyphereon, sending vast, dome shaped explosions high into the air. Soon the warehouses dotted about the lander began to echo with the same explosions, the ear-splitting sound rivalling that of the angry thunderclouds above. Plasma fires were already beginning to tear through the docklands area, defiant against the heavy downpour as the barrage continued. With his free hand, Jecht shielded his eyes as ahead of him an entire squad disappeared inside an explosion, atomised by the superheated plasma.

He could see the Link facility now, it's adamantium structure impervious to the barrage. Anxiously he dared a glance up at the sky, making sure that no malignant orb headed for him or Quentin. Yet the sight he was greeted with gave him pause to stop altogether, his jaw dropping in steadfast awe.

Bursting through the clouds came one of the colossal Battle Cruisers that carried the Landing Craft to Carsus. Its hull stood ravaged by vast scars, glowing like magma through layer after layer of exposed decks and inner chambers. It leaned heavily to one side; the ship's landing thrusters desperately struggling to slow its lethal descent. Around it swarmed and spiralled half a dozen smaller vessels, dodging and weaving past the Cruiser's frantic firepower, all the while unleashing wave after wave of their own assault on the crippled ship like a pack of wolves hunting a wounded bison.

"Throne almighty that's the Gallant, one of the Mordians' own, it's being blown to pieces!" rose the voice of Quentin as they watched the death throes of the massive Cruiser side by side. One of the strange, alien craft fell limp as a lucky lance shot from the Gallant blew through its pink-yellow hull, sending it plummeting towards the ocean below, a mass of tentacles writhing and twisting in its wake.

As it dropped closer and closer to the murky water, escape craft and escort fighters began to disembark from the Gallant's hangar bays, breaking towards land to try and escape the attack. As they did so, a multitude of smaller craft took off from the undersides of the alien ships, keen to let nothing escape.

Before long the air around the cruiser was alive with dogfights, the imperial fighters struggling to buy the escape pods time to reach land. The resulting aerial explosions stained the brooding sky in all directions with the incandescent blossoms of crimson fireballs. Jecht winced as a lone Thunderbolt flew close overhead, two alien fighters hard on its tail, their strange weaponry filling the air with a screeching whine.

Looking up to the newly formed break in the cloud bank, the Cadian once again found himself awestruck. A gargantuan, mushroom shaped vessel hung in low orbit like some cruel portrait, easily the same size as Hive Hyphereon, perhaps even larger, "What the hell is going on here?" he asked aloud, unsure what to make of the situation.

"Nids." came Corporal Mecca's sullen reply as he jogged past, a rocket launcher slung across one shoulder, his own flamer across his back. With his free hand his gestured for Jecht and Quentin to follow, "Had to be Emperor damned Nids."


	3. Chapter 2

**Part 2: Pride**

Jecht studied the incoming Imperial Valkyrie from his place behind the blast doors - its left turbine engine billowed a long tail of inky-black smoke and it leaned heavily to one side as it carved a passage through the deluge. It had seen the downed Lander without doubt, standing out on the ground like some mindless leviathan.

Behind the crippled vessel loomed a huge, winged monstrosity, a vision of pure terror that danced and glided through the air with relentless ease, glistening hideously in the downpour.

From above, the sunless sky sparked and crackled with assiduous energy as brooding cloud formations assaulted the air with blinding bolts of fork lightning, each one proceeded by the equally rumbustious crash of thunder. Under the glare, the colossal beast became sporadically visible for a few seconds at a time, its massive, iridescent wings lazily rising and falling to distort the air around it. Beneath, Jecht noticed the swarms of smaller, insect-like creatures that clung to the Harridan's chitinous underside like children afraid to leave the nest.

"They'll never make it," he whispered, watching on as the Valkyrie transport began to initiate a crash landing.

He had heard horror stories of the Tyranids during his short term with the guard, how they used these reptilian Harridans to drop wave after wave of comparatively diminutive Gargoyles into battle - smaller fliers that couldn't sustain the higher altitudes and thermal drafts of planets marked for consumption, _A big Nid will always lead you to a hundred smaller bastards, _they had said, describing the Tyranid Hyperparasitic tactics. All scarred men from the Cadian 9th, veterans of Fort Carcasson.

The idea of the Tyranids, all devouring aliens from the void beyond the Galaxy's outer limits, had always interested Jecht. Even as far back as he could remember - in his childhood home on Cadia, where his older brothers had scared him to tears with stories of the Genestealers coming at night. How something could be so primal, so savage in its every approach to existence, yet function with a singular intelligence that rivalled any aspect of the workings of humanity, truly fascinated him. Now he had seen them with his own eyes however, the Cadian realised there was nothing beautiful about these creatures. Not like he might expect of the native animals and insects back on his homeworld. The Tyranids were living weaponry, nothing more. They moved from planet to planet, star to star, galaxy to galaxy. Their only purpose was to destroy and consume everything, like some out of control virus - a cancer of the universe.

Jecht snapped away from his thoughts as the platoon began to shift anxiously about him - apparently his view on the unlikely survival of those on board the Valkyrie was fast becoming a shared realisation. Stepping forward from the Imperial line, the newly appointed Sergeant Major Valerie drew his power sword; a gorgeous, ornate weapon, supposedly wrenched free from the dead hands of the Cultist Champion that left him the huge scar across his cheek, "Sixth Platoon with me!" he called aloud, pacing forward out of the relative safety of the Link facility and back into the storm. _Back to war._

Suddenly invigorated, Jecht bared his teeth in a silent snarl and unslung his rifle. It dawned on him that it would not do to meet these vile aliens like he had in his nightmare, with pitiful, subdued terror. This was the reality of war and these aliens wouldn't find the name Jechtin Dorn so easily placed on their menu, "For the Emperor!" he cried aloud, striding proudly down the building's access ramp in the wake of his sergeant, a roar of defiance erupting behind and around him.

"Looks like you could use some help there," spoke a crepitating voice from the Vox loud speaker of Private Osmond to the rear. As one, the platoon shifted to the side of the ramp, the concrete below them reverberating with the stomping of huge, four-pronged feet. The Sentinel squadron quickly took up the head of the infantry column, all three machines lurching from side to side with each lunging step onwards. The giant walkers swung massive Auto-Cannons from axles beneath the pilot compartments – their ammunition drums clicking and whirring in mechanical auto-load.

Jecht felt reassured by the 42nd's decision to bring the lumbering scout-support units, especially with the entirety of the Taskforce's heavier armour located with the other Cadians, Mordians and Arbiters several miles away at Hyphereon's southern gate. Their commanding presence could bring stability to any battlefield, each one able to lay down a withering hail of firepower. Every unit would prove invaluable to their chances of survival against the cursed Xenos, he knew all too well.

Around them the plasma fires continued to rage, occasionally scarring the air with massive explosions once they grasped the flammable cargos dotted around the surrounding warehouses. The Tyranid bombardment itself had long since stopped however, allowing the Harridans room to sail down from the hive ships and deliver their own deadly cargo.

Casting a gaze over to the originally intended drop zone, Jecht watched tracer fire scream through the air as hundreds of the dragon-like Harridans wrought devastation upon those still in the open, _Well well, our first bit of luck,_ he thought with a sigh of relief, gazing up at the single monstrosity they were left to contend with as it soared ever closer to the wounded Valkyrie.

Ahead, the transport detached the smoking carcass of its second engine, avoiding the likely inferno that would occur if it tried to land with it still in tow. Now leaning increasingly further to one side, it hummed over the top of the downed Lander, the sole remaining turbine whining loudly under a huge burden.

Descending to within a few feet of the rain soaked tarmac, the bulky ship cut all power, dropping hard onto its armoured belly. Carried forward by the momentum, it skidded furiously towards the approaching sixth platoon and sentinel escort, locked in constant spin. Jecht shot a free hand out to the access ramp's railing, unsure whether the Valkyrie would stop in time to avoid crushing them all. Yet his fears were quickly rebuked as the Transport came to rest some thirty metres down the loading thoroughfare, its exit doors hissing open.

The Cadian squinted hard against the rain - the men jumping hurriedly from the vessel's sides seemed for a split-second to be uniformed in the black and gold trim of 42nd Cadian command. He looked harder, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the iridescent flash of lightning, _It couldn't be…_

From behind, the vox speaker rose into life once more, albeit this time in the clear-signalled, static-free form of a master-vox transmission, "This is Regimental Command, pattern XL85, requesting immediate assistance from any Imperial unit near Lander thirteen; we are under heavy attack from enemy aircraft. Repeat we are under attack!"

Raising the cross-comm to his mouth, Osmond's reply clearly reflected the platoon's collective amazement, "Sixth platoon here, recommend advance North, we are en route to your location sir!"

Receiving the message, the small group of men looked up, breaking from the relative cover of the Valkyrie towards the advancing sentinels and men. Above, the Harridan descended in anticipation of the kill, its Gargoyle cargo detaching dexterously into the storm. Like leaves caught in the wind, they spiralled menacingly down towards the ground, wings beating furiously against the jet stream

Jecht studied the approaching command squad, still unsure as to how the lone Transport could have made it through orbit. Yet there was no mistaking the stocky figure of Colonel Drezlen, his infamous twin bolt-pistols spitting a hail of shells at the fast approaching aliens as he back peddled away. Behind him came the lone representative of the commissariat amongst the 42nd, Drathé Caevinor, his sonorous tone audible above even the resounding din of thunder, "Fear not the alien! It cannot hope to comprehend the foe it marks. Ensure that it pays for such a grievous error!"

As if spurred on by Drathé's words, the Sentinel squadron opened fire, filling the air with the dull, roaring sound of Auto-Cannon shot. Singularly, the large weapons were barely semi-automatic, each shot proceeded by a two to three second pause. Yet when fired in unison they became almost fully automated, a constant stream of thirty-millimetre shells that hurtled towards the Harridan like incandescent beads of flame.

The gargantuan beast screeched in painful defiance, shaking its reptilian head from side to side as the explosive rounds connected across its thick, armoured carapace. All around it, gargoyles caught in the stream simply disintegrated, their inferior chitinous protection imploding under the massive force. In their wake remained naught but the wide arcing scatter of barbed limbs and a misty residue of alien blood-ichor that gently drifted down with the rain.

Forced from its original course, the Harridan backed away, its broad wings beating heavily to fight against the prevailing wind. Fist-sized holes began to appear amongst their leathery membranes as the Sentinels pressed forward to keep within range. Hovering vertically beneath the swirling storm, the Harridan craned its long neck to regard the new threat, its beady eyes flashing crimson against the fork lightning above. Sizing up the new challenge, the giant creature banked left and dropped towards the dock below its wings twisting into a vortex.

Just as the monstrosity appeared close to plunging headfirst into the flaming dock, it twisted itself upright, expanded to its full wingspan and soared fast towards the approaching sentinels. As it surged forward, the now-visible cannons at the tip of each wing flared a momentary luminescent-green, launching two wide, metallic-green crystals at its chosen target. The sentinel walker on the far right of the column stopped fast in its tracks, a dreadful hiss escaping from the pilot's compartment. Across the vox came the man's death throes in clear, horrific detail; an ear-splitting scream that quickly dissipated to a squalid gurgle as explosive crystal neurotoxins audibly boiled his blood.

Jecht paused, staggered by what he had seen. Yet his disgust quickly gave way to fear for his own life as the Harridan tore past a mere twenty or so feet above his head, knocking him and the majority of his platoon to the rain-soaked ground below as the air distorted in the creature's passage.

Undeterred, the remaining brace of Sentinels turned laboriously - tracking the monstrosity as it banked in preparation for another attack, their cannons glowing orange from constant heavy fire.

Rising to their feet, sixth platoon hesitated, a blend of scared and confused faces revealing a general consensus as to how they could possibly defeat such an alien, _Perhaps we are doomed._

Ahead, Drezlen's command squad continued their slow retreat to safety as the Gargoyles descended unchallenged towards them. One of the colonel's staff shouldered his lasgun, struggling desperately with a long, black staff attached to his back. Finally managing to untie the gold trimmed tassels, he waved the banner free, a flash of glorious black and silver that shimmered magnificently in the rain.

It was the 42nd's own Regimental Standard, Jecht could see – marked with the inscriptions of every single Regimental victory and battle honour, sown like intricate runes across the gorgeous velvet cloth. _My colours… _he thought, any previous fear of the Tyranids fading away on the storm.

Gritting his teeth the Cadian gripped his lasgun, rage etched fast across his features. It was about pride now. Pride these monsters could never know or understand. They were mere insects, devoid of meaning or purpose. _Their Hive Mind shall this day see the price of its malevolence!_

The booming voice of Sergeant Valerie rose up through the air once more, "Forward! For Cadia! For the 42nd and victory eternal in his name!" The platoon's roaring challenge shook the very concrete below, angry clouds above matching in time with the equally explosive din of thunder. They were carried forwards on waves of their own palpable bloodlust, crimson streaks of lasfire crackling and searing the air before them. The gargoyles died in droves, alien features melting under the intense, triboluminescent heat of the lasrifles as the platoon rallied around their Colonel and Standard.

Mek brought his incinerator to bear on the sky, sending a cone of burning promethium into the storm; guiding the special weapon operators from other squads to follow suit. Before long the air burned with the liquid fire of flamers, the roar of melta-guns and the explosive hiss of plasma. Alien bodies shrieked and tumbled out of flight, aflame or half-melted - each descent marked with the final, sickening pop of chitinous exoskeletons shattering audibly on impact.

Stunned by the sudden degree of fight in their newly amassed prey, the Gargoyles hovered in the air, their multitudinous wings humming furiously.

Like some deformed flock of birds they spiralled menacingly through the updrafts, studying the wide human formation below, quite impervious to the scores of their own dead dropping hard out of the setting sky. Apparently reaching some collective decision, they opened fire, their hideous weapons recoiling amid a stomach-turning squelch - showering the platoon below with dozens of small, maggot-like creatures, each one no longer than a man's finger. Human screams echoed through the storm as the alien grubs found their targets, quickly tearing through anything and everything with which they made contact.

Jecht gasped as something connected with his shoulder guard. Looking left, he watched with consummate horror as a glistening flesh-borer started to chew its way through the burly armour plating, its sickly, throbbing yellow form secreting freshly dissolved plasteel in its wake. Not wanting to see the effect when it reached his skin, he hastily tore the guard from his shoulder and hurled it to the floor just as the grub broke through to the opposite side. Sneering, he crushed the hideous creature underfoot, disgusted by the alien's choice of weaponry.

From out of nowhere, Jecht was nearly bowled over by the staggering form of private Amst, an old friend from second squad. The dark skinned man collapsed forward, violently throwing up blackened blood as the borer inside him happily devoured his chest cavity. His face as pale as wax, Jecht strained to turn away from the man's death spasms, _Emperor bring him peace,_ came the age old epitaph in his mind, _and grant unto him salvation, 'neath the tilt of your golden throne. _

Spinning back to the combat, fully enraged, Jecht took to one knee and brought his rifle up to bear. Scanning the sky through his sight, he searched for a target, ignoring the chaotic distractions from all around. Bringing one of the Gargoyles into view he promptly fired on instinct and watched as the bright laser seared straight through the alien's left wing. The creature plummeted shrieking towards the ground, its remaining wing still fluttering uselessly. Without even waiting for impact, the Guardsman had already taken aim at the next vile creature, a perfect shot turning its head to coloured steam.

Even before joining the guard Jecht could shoot, his aim perfected through countless hunting trips with his father and brothers back on Cadia. His skills had seen him flying through the 'gun-baby' Whiteshield conscripts and into the ranks of third company, a place usually reserved for second or third year veterans.

He had tested his aim against Orks, Chaos Rebels and even the mysterious Eldar over the last six months, yet never had he taken aim at the utterly alien Tyranid horrors before. Above all else, he was quite relieved to see that they came apart under a good hit like any other foe of the Imperium.

The Gargoyles, increasingly reminded of their dwindling numbers in the sky, began to drop into close quarters. They hovered ominously above the heads of the guardsmen, their cruel talons slashing at those who came to close whilst flesh-borers launched salvo after salvo live ammunition at point blank range.

The voice of Colonel Drezlen became audible above the carnage, strengthening the resolve of those troops around him as he pumped auto-reactive rounds into any Gargoyle that passed by, "Men of the 42nd! Victory is upon us, do not despair to fight these aliens with bayonet and sword, they have revealed their weakness to us and we shall crush them for it in turn!"

Jecht watched as one of the monstrosities rose away from the melee, a flailing guardsman held tight in its talons. It made off into the sky, apparently pleased with its prized catch, only to be vaporised by a double blast of plasma mere moments later. The man screamed as he was released some thirty feet from the ground - screams that were in turn cut short as he plummeted headfirst through the roof of one of the nearby warehouses.

At last he saw Sergeant Valerie and Commissar Drathé trisect the last of the foul creatures, their powersword and chainsword crossing from either side of it in a simultaneous, rending blow, coating both men in a thick film of pink-hued ichor.

_Victory! _the word swam magnificently through his mind. Yet at what cost had it come?

In the distance, the lone Harridan twisted and weaved above the warehouses as the two remaining sentinels continued their Auto-Cannon assault. The same pink blood-ichor was now visible on the larger beast, frothing around several holes in its chitinous hide where the shot had pierced armour. Buckling the rain soaked air with one final screech of alien defiance, it broke from the attack, inclining its airborne passage towards the downed Valkyrie where the two pilots remained in the relative safety of the armoured cockpit. Dropping to almost ground level, the gargantuan flier rested its broad talons across the top of the two tonne transport, effortlessly plucking it from its place on the thoroughfare and carrying it off into the storm. The pilots' silent screams and their futile efforts to escape the vessel cast a foul shadow over the recent victory as the platoon watched the craft being towed away. Yet the two enduring Sentinels behind appeared not as keen to let the dragon-like monstrosity escape so easily, especially after slaying their comrade in the third suit. Taking long strides forward to keep in range, the towering brace of scout-walkers opened fire once more, albeit this time on the Imperial ship tight in the creature's grasp.

After a few seconds under the weapons' dreadful ferocity, the Valkyrie's remaining engine exploded violently, engulfing the Harridan in a huge, churning fireball.

Dropping the vessel into the surging waves below, the beast swung awkwardly from side to side, blinded by the intense flames that consumed it. Screeching vociferously in its agony, the creature dropped into another tight, spinning vortex, clearly attempting to douse the flames, _No amount of dancing's going to shake a tank full of burning promethium my alien friend, _Jecht thought with a wry smile - watching as the creature tried to right itself, only to find its wing membranes had already burnt to nothing.

With a final, moaning wail, the Harridan plunged haplessly into the grey-brown ocean, sending a massive plume of saltwater high into the air. An inevitable cheer erupted from the platoon. Man had defeated the alien, for now.

Gazing up at the thundering sky above, Jecht's grinning, intrepid embrace of victory briskly faded back to the usual, overwhelming sensation of fear that had become increasingly familiar with this Emperor-damned world.

Overhead, the clouds faded from grey, to dark grey and then to an almost inky black as the light above them disappeared. _They're coming._


	4. Chapter 3

**Part 3: Next Stop; Hive Hyphereon**

Slowly, inevitably, the outside world faded away. Violently shaking the great, domed antechamber which they had guarded for centuries, the massive blast doors gradually pulled together. Adamantium set a metre thick, groaned and churned incessantly with each agonising few feet of progress.

Behind stood the entirety of the Lander's cargo, rank after rank of rapt faces, eyes alive with a cold fusion of fear and steadfast wonder. A full third of the Cadian 42nd Regiment watched on in silent, mesmeric futility. Totalling seven companies - two thousand men and women of the Guard, they all quickly fell in tune to the same deep sense of foreboding, all held an unwavering gaze on the outside world - for they knew many would never see it again.

Jecht stood with them, fresh from his battle against the Harridan and its entourage of lithe, swarming Gargoyles. Yet the sight which now confronted him quickly stole any glimmer of hope derived from the small victory.

As if somehow connected with the raging tempest, wave after wave of glistening, seed-like pods began to plummet from the cloud bank above. Countless hundreds rapidly turned to countless thousands, plunging the horizon into premature darkness in all directions. Vast sheets of chain lightning tore through the ailing sky, buzzing and crackling in defiance of the planetary assault. Alongside this sickening infestation came too the Harridans, identical to the one sixth platoon had faced, yet in numbers that defied human imagination, their monstrous forms gliding gracefully among the living surge of mycetic spores like true birds of prey.

Gradually, the grim picture outside began to diminish, the blast door serving its purpose in sheltering those within from the horrors without. _Yet is mere metal enough to save us? _the thought was briefly accentuated with one of the chimera-sized pods coming to land just outside, striking the facility's access ramp with a sickening thud that sent huge flakes of jagged rockcrete spiralling in all directions.

The final, lingering image from the outside world became that of a throbbing, orb-like womb, bruised to purple and saturated with thick, alien mucus. Scything limbs sawed hard at its flanks, disguising the muffled hissing and screaming that rose like a discordant whine from inside.

And then silence. The hulking doors met firmly in metallic embrace, their grating collision reverberating throughout the chamber like some ancient tomb gateway, trapping those inside to rot in eternity. For a short moment the entire room was plunged into perpetual darkness, as if the void itself had come to consume those inside. Yet the generators quickly whirred into life, their dull drone echoing across the antechamber in a furious, resounding din. In turn they gave rise to the eerie glow of portable lighting, spreading across the marble floor like starlight.

----

Jecht turned to get a first glimpse at the huge building that now unerringly kept them from the alien hordes outside, even as nervous chatter and anxious whispers spread contagiously through the men around him like the first ripples of an epidemic.

The expansive room must have served as some sort of entrance lobby for the dockworkers as they made their passage to and from the main Hive construct. Smooth marble sloped gently downwards, delving deeper into the planet's ore-rich crust, onwards towards several gaping tunnel entrances, each one undoubtedly leading to a different Link platform. All around them stood the oddly shaped reception desks and ticket booths common to the Administratum halls of the Imperium - long, twisting queuing lanes and carefully placed security checkpoints. All empty. All left to decay in the interminable dark.

The air suddenly rose to life once more with the familiar sound of vox static, tearing Jecht away from his almost surgical study of the antechamber. The aging figure of Colonel Drezlen nimbly pounced up onto one of the desks, his form, as ever, compulsively clad in long leather trench coat and black-grey peaked cap. Below his thick, dusty collar shone the slight gleam of Imperial gold - his refractor field gorget-generator being the only visible sign of official heraldry about his person.

"Men of the 42nd, heed my words," his voice rang like iron, echoing and resounding through the dozens of shoulder-mounted vox-amps that were dotted through each company. The room plunged instantly into silence, two thousand pleading eyes looking to their vigilant, seasoned commander for some glimpse of hope, "As I know you are all aware, the mysterious threat here on Carsus has kindly given us time to show its face. For a lot of us, it's the worst thing we could've hoped for, a 'Nid Splinter Fleet this far in on the segmentum. Yet for all its worth, we can't choose the foes we face, We can only choose how we meet those enemies. And meet them we shall! At every corner, at every turn, at every Emperor cursed place in this hive that these things choose to attacks us, we'll make 'em pay tenfold for that choice!" he paused to search the eyes of every man gathered close, "No insect shall ever stand before us. Show them your faith in his name, show them that you are the hand of his iron will! Show them this and they will crumble before us, they will buckle and break beneath our righteous wrath!" he punched the air as he spoke, emphasising the anger behind each word, "So I ask you now men of Cadia - stand vigilant by my side. Send these foul Xenos whimpering back to the holes they sprang from. Do this and we can get off this planet - to somewhere with damn sight better weather, I promise you that!" The room swiftly met their commander's rallying speech with the roar of two thousand mouths, rifles held aloft in defiance of the alien horde outside, "Now get this gear ready to head out, we move on from here in five minutes. Company and Platoon commanders to me. That is all."

With that the huge lobby erupted into activity once again, morale restored to beleaguered hearts. Most had a clear idea their chances were slim but they had purpose now. _A reason to stay alive._

_----_

Jecht dropped to one knee, gathering up a hulking belt of Heavy-Bolter ammo and slinging it over his shoulder, _But how did they surprise us so easily? _despite the Colonel's invigorating words, the thought worried him.

Diffidently dropping his gaze to the marble below, the Cadian coyly walked towards the gathered group of officers, who were by now at one of the abandoned desks, straying to just within earshot of their heated discussion. Carefully unslinging the ammo-belt, he quickly made to coil the heavy links, hoping desperately that none amongst them would notice his prying.

With the assembled group stood his own sergeant, clearly unaccustomed to being involved with the higher end of ranking officials. Remaining on the outskirts of the group, Valerie's scarred figure kept quiet, likely regretting the way sixth platoon's original JO, Lieutenant Omagh, met his untimely demise some ten thousand feet above the city.

"…I just don't see how the fleet didn't spot any Tyranid activity in this sector before we were already in orbit, it doesn't make sense that they could've just come out of nowhere!" rose the irate voice of one of the Company commanders.

The reply came from Jecht's own company superior, Captain Irahn, his bionic right arm whirring mechanically with each gesture, "I don't think there's much going on here that makes any sense Victor, for a start why have the 'Nids left this planet in such good condition? We've all seen the results of their invasions before, why hasn't this entire world been seeded and stripped of everything organic? From the looks of it, all they've done is taken out the human and animal populations and left. Even now outside, there's no sign whatsoever of the seeds falling with their pods. Hardly seems like the workings of the Hive Mind to…"

"That is because you do not understand them Captain," interrupted the Colonel, who had been heeding the anxiety of his command staff in silence for some minutes now, his usual commanding tone had dropped away to an almost sorrowful whisper, "For millennia we have waged war against these aliens. With the very will of the Emperor we have sacrificed millions to hold them at bay, to try and contain their insurmountable threat to all we hold dear. Their threat to humanity rivals even that of the Ruinous Powers and yet what do we truly know of them?" he paused to rub wearily at his fast-receding hairline, "What can we say of their purpose? Their meaning? Their _reasons_? Can any of us honestly say why it is that these monstrosities move from planet to planet, draining life in all its forms, right down to the very oceans and Emperor damned atmosphere itself?

Gentlemen. This is not some Ork that you can strive to out-think or outmanoeuvre on the field of battle. These bastards cannot be second guessed or predicted. Any attempt to figure out the reasons behind what they do is futile and a waste of time we _do not _have. All we can hope to say is that they know we're down here and they're coming. They're coming to feast."

----

The Link platform stood empty and vast, its rotting walls housing a full twelve shuttle lines, each one stretching off and away through the ultraviolet gloom, into the inescapable dark of the rail tunnels. Many of the giant transports still sat stationed, their hulking, metal shells leering ominously from the far reaches of the platform. Hundreds of Perspex windows and portals glistened eagerly along their flanks, set like opaque screens against the glare of probing barrel-torches and Sentinel searchlights. To Jecht it seemed as if the huge constructs waited in grim anticipation of their final, conclusive journey, left for so long to slumber in the inky black of the Underdark. He did not dare think on the fate shared by their last set of passengers.

Gradually the entirety of the 42nd's Taskforce filled the platform, giving a strange image of what it must've resembled prior to the alien incursion. Hundreds of men and women, still weary from the earlier drop, piled forward across the hewn rockcrete stage, forming up in their respective companies and platoons in organised precision. Amongst them strode the mighty Sentinel walkers, swinging heavily from side to side and bathing the platform with their high-powered searchlights. Some stood out as power-lifters, their broad, hydraulic arms bearing the brunt of heavier loads and equipment.

Servitors clicked and buzzed as they hauled the mobile generators into view, securing them in place with robotic efficiency and speed. Jecht sneered and spat at the sight. He had never liked the 42nd's entourage of half organic, half bionic servants. Forming the personal retinue of the sole Enginseer, Techpriest Ordaint, he couldn't help but get the feeling that they weren't totally under human control, almost as if they could suddenly turn against their creators at any moment.

All throughout the Imperium their unfeeling, emotionless presence had become a vital asset, the resilient, durable creations being perfect for the more menial, dangerous tasks that were rife through peace or war.

Even the Cogboy Ordaint himself didn't seem quite human, his robed figure covered in bionic upgrades and enhancements. Of these, the most notable was a plasteel Servo-arm, attached through surgery to his spinal cord, sequentially granting him the relative control of an extra, mechanically-strengthened limb. Indeed Jecht remembered how he had mistaken the Enginseer as some sort of metallic half-scorpion on his joining the regiment, a view shared through many regimental jokes and tales across the years. Yet he knew that the presence of Ordaint and his servitors would be fundamental to their every chance of escaping the Hordes above. _Whatever chance that was._

With that thought, he raised a glance to the cold ceiling overhead, to the exposed girders and supports rusting visibly through the gloom, _So what now Hive Mind? _he wondered, knowing well that the aliens would immediately attract to the fallen Lander and the dead human and alien cadavers piled in and around it. It wouldn't be long before their tracks into the Facility were picked up and followed.

----

Without warning the platform lighting began to flicker, struggling valiantly to force themselves from slumber, "Well well. Old Dainty's done it again," spoke the Corporal from behind as the white glow of electro-light exploded all around - forcing Jecht to shield his gloom-accustomed eyes from the glare. As if on cue, the vox amps of forty different platoons spurred into static, the rasping voice of Ordaint merging unnervingly with radio white-noise, "As per request, reserve power cells have been deployed for Links two, five and nine. Please begin loading with haste, for the reserve power will not hold. Praise the machine spirit for its blessing. That is all." As the vox-amps crackled back to silence, so the taskforce began to move out, entire companies and their platoons swiftly organising the complicated troop movements between themselves.

Herded towards the Link Shuttle marked as bay five, Jecht hoisted the uncomfortable load of ammunition higher onto his shoulder and winced as the heavy belt links bit into his skin, "Where you reckon they'll send us?" he asked, looking left at Quentin.

"Into the Underhive no doubt. I'm guessing they're hoping the spooks on the surface get put off by the smell and stop looking," he answered grinning, "that's if there's none already down there 'course."

_The Underhive… _Jecht thought to himself. Being born in one of the high-raised, habitation layers of the Cadian Megaspires, he had never seen one of the infamous Underdarks with his own eyes, though the countless stories that passed through society and life in the Guard gave him enough of a picture to stay away.

Before him the shuttle doors slid open, releasing the pent up, stale air that had been trapped inside. Waiting patiently for his turn to board, the Cadian studied the hulking carriage, its stained, grey hull gleaming in the new light.

At least a hundred metres in length and perhaps twenty wide, the vessel was split into three autonomous compartments; two for passengers and another for cargo. It seemed to run on two separate rails, one along the ground and the other above on the ceiling, respectively securing the oversized, bubble-shaped carriage in a parallel embrace. Both lines hummed and droned monotonously under the rippling, electric current, curving off into the unlit link-tunnel like twin silver snakes.

Stepping inside, Jecht was met with the amassed rank and file of the seating units, standing like battered troops under the pale interior lighting. The design emphasis had evidently been on sacrificing comfort in the interests of goading as many possible passengers on board, all the while trying to avoid the risk of asphyxiation in the extensive rail networks that circled the main hive.

Stowing the bolter ammunition-belt, Jecht hurriedly made way to his designated seat, struck by the similarity between the Link Shuttle and the Lander Cataphract he had dropped with earlier. As images of the fateful falling began racing nauseously through his mind, he shivered violently and slumped into his seat beside Quentin and Raif - one of the other privates from his squad. The burly, dark-skinned man sat expressionless as always, a large, belt-fed heavy-stubber perched on his lap. Illegal in the main Cadian army, the weapon resembled an archaic machinegun, capable of unleashing a hail of relatively weak fire at any given foe. It was apparently only granted to Raif due to him being strong enough to man and fire the unsightly weapon single-handedly, a compliment to his physique and a detriment to his aim.

Casting a gaze out through each side window, Jecht watched as the other shuttles slowly roll forward and set off into the shadows, the roar of conduit engines audible even through the perspex. Before long the last of the equipment and troops, including the Colonel's command squad and Ordaint, filed into his own carriage, just as the bloated transport began to shift and stir, gradually moving forward with agonising inevitability. The Cadian closed firm his eyes in cold realisation of where it was they were going. The descent had begun.


End file.
